


Boxing Day

by raventree



Category: White Collar
Genre: Advent Ficathon, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Quiet Christmasses, not actually dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raventree/pseuds/raventree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter receives a reason to enjoy holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxing Day

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I signed up for a deadline, for a fandom I haven't written in for a few years, or even watched much for a similar time. It's also the first fic I've completed in a long time too. Any way, Happy Holidays!
> 
> I do not own White Collar, etc, etc.

 

  Twas the night before Christmas... and Peter Burke just wasn't feeling it. Half the houses in their neighbourhood were more decoration than facade, Santa's littered every street corner and carollers had knocked on the Burke front door every night that week. But for Peter, the season felt... flat. And somehow _unChristmasy_.

The displays were a tad too commercial, the ' _Merry Christmas's_ ' and ' _Happy Holiday's_ ' a little bit forced. The ever present carols seemed repetitive and just off key. Peter had almost suggested taking a vacation somewhere sunny and hot, wondering if the change from the usual dream of a New York white Christmas and the extra sunlight might be enough to snap him out of the funk he'd been in since Thanksgiving. But organising everything in such a short time frame had seemed a Herculean task.

If Peter was honest with himself, he could admit that a lot of things seemed Herculean lately. If he was even more honest, Peter knew that lately was closer to ever since Neal died. And not even Peter's favourite holiday of the year was going to change that.

They spend the holiday quietly at home, Jones having volunteered to cover the undesirable Christmas shifts. A mid morning call to their parents, and then it's just the two of them. Three if he counted Satchmo. They catch up on all the bad reality TV they've missed while working and eat leftovers from El's Christmas Eve ham. It's not what most would call a fun Christmas, but it's restful and somehow soothing. There's no expectations, no people wanting a piece of his time, no one wishing him a season's joy he couldn't seem to return. It's nice.

 The box arrives the day after Christmas. There's no return address, but the stamps and the packaging are English and the postmarks and _FRAGILE_ warnings are in French. A note in the bottom left corner admonishes him to _Open Carefully!_. Like the address, it is written in unfamiliar block letters. If he wasn't certain Mozzie hadn't left the country in the last six months, Peter would suspect the shorter man of some part in the mystery. He considers it unlikely that June would have sent them something so anonymously, which more or less exhausts his list of usual suspects. He lets Satchmo out in to the backyard and takes the box upstairs to El.

They open it carefully. Inside is a Christmas present, meticulously wrapped in cream paper covered in silver and gold bells, tied with dark red ribbon. It's understated and classy and brings a small smile to even Peter's face. They unwrap it even more carefully than the postal box, revealing a layer of silk ties, no two the same. El insists on examining each one, oohing and aahing over the quality, the patterns, the colours. Peter agrees, they're all great... but doesn't he have enough ties already? El gives him a _look_ and lifts up the sheet of bubble wrap.

A dozen glass baubles, hand painted with various scenes. A view of their house from the street, a tiny Satchmo sitting on the front step. The city skyline from June's terrace. The terrace itself at night, done up beach style and covered with lights. The Greatest Cake on opening day, awning a vivid red. Peter's old office. A curiously low view of their dining room, as though the artist had sat on the floor to paint it. A Parisian cafe, Eifel Tower just visible in the background, with a table set up for three, a familiar hat sitting amongst the cups and saucers, and the name of the cafe clearly visible, despite the miniaturisation. _Satchmo's_.  Peter couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. The season suddenly felt very bright again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Due to writer's block and computer issues (we're sure it's the HDMI cord) this was completed and tyed up today. Just in time.


End file.
